


Not Anymore

by TyrantTirade



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Arguing, Confusion, Domestic, Dorms, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Sassy Bucky Barnes, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-25
Updated: 2017-12-25
Packaged: 2019-02-20 08:59:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13143339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TyrantTirade/pseuds/TyrantTirade
Summary: Steve sighs, dropping his phone, trying to be as monotonous as he can as he looks up, mumbling, “I didn't do anything with your stuff.”





	Not Anymore

**Author's Note:**

  * For [superfandomqueen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/superfandomqueen/gifts).



> I had a lot of fun writing this. I've never actually even considered writing about soulmates but this actually ended up being one of my favorite little fics i've written. 
> 
> I hope you like it!
> 
>  
> 
> All mistakes are mine.

Thankfully he's only on the second floor. Steves well aware that he's a pretty strong dude but he still would rather not carry boxes upon boxes up more than one flight of stairs. 

Still yet, lugging said boxes upon boxes has him worn out by the time he's got them all in his room. 

He sets the final cardboard box down, huffing out a tired breath and allows himself to plop down onto his unmade bed. Noting to himself that he should probably make the bed, and put all of the boxes up. 

At the moment though, sitting down and playing lame phone games sounds much more appealing. He deserves a break for all of his hard work, he thinks to himself, leaning back against the wall.

Heavily into his game he doesn't really notice the door opening until a bag is dropped in front of him, a voice grabbing his attention as the stranger, presumably his roommate says “This is my bed asshole.”

Now, Steve doesn't have much experience with siblings, being an only child. But he does know exactly what kind of sarcastic remark he would make in an event like this, looking up, smiling smug as he says, “Not anymore,” before he drops his attention back down to his phone. 

The guy in front of him shifts some, Steve tries his best to ignore him but suddenly the guys hand is snapping right in Steve's face annoyingly, “What the hell did you do with my stuff?” the guy asks stupidly. 

Steve sighs, dropping his phone, trying to be as monotonous as he can as he looks up, mumbling, “I didn't do anything with your stuff.” However, when he finally gets a good look at the guy he cant help but notice that, wow, he's kind of pretty. Kind of really pretty. His hair is long and wavy, twisting over his shoulders, and his eyes are steely blue, like the kind of steely blue that instantly makes him want to start writing poetic metaphors like, ocean waves crashing on the shore, or a torrential downpour. 

Which is weird because Steve's never been a poetic guy. 

But this dude, despite clearly being a massive dick, as much as Steve hates admitting it, is his type to a T, all the way down to the weird, unkemptness of his eyebrows. 

The guy smirks, perfectly, which figures. “Okay smartass, my stuff was right here, i know i was gone for a few hours but you can't just do that.” He moves, looking around the room. 

And- the guy must be batshit crazy or something, because when Steve came in there was nothing in the room, he would never just move someone's things. “Listen man, I don't know if it was someone else or something but I didn't mess with your things.” 

“What's your name?” the guy asks, anger still in his expression.

“Steve?” 

“Okay Steve, I am James. Now i know that we're stuck as roommates but this isn't cool okay.” 

Which, no, Steve thinks, this isn't cool, and it's especially not cool that he's being treated like he's done something wrong. He goes to respond when another guy comes stumbling into the room, bag looped around his arm.

“Heyyyy,” Third guy says. He walks up, shoving his palm out, looking at both Steve and James with a smile so wide that it seems to disturb all of the tense energy in the room. 

“I’m Sam,” Third guy exclaims, forcing both of them into a shake. “So which one of you am I stuck living with?” 

In unison both Steve and James speak, saying, “Me.” 

James scowls, looking at Steve, “Not this idiot, me.” 

“Okay,” Steve starts, wanting to give James a piece of his mind, “i'm not sure what your problem is dude, but I haven't done anything.” 

James, blatantly rolls his eyes, “Except go into the wrong room and hide my stuff from me like an asshole.” 

“I didn't do that!” Steve yells, “I didn't hide your stuff, I'm not a dick like you are.” 

“Then what happened to it, huh? Did it grow legs and walk away?”

“I don't know but I didn't fucking do it okay?”

“Just admit it. You hid my stuff!” 

“OKAY,” Sam suddenly shouts, successfully making both Steve and James shut up. “Why are you arguing, what did I miss?” 

James speaks first, “My stuff was here and this guy hid it or something.” 

“I didn't do that,” Steve adds flatly. 

“Alright, you,” he points at Steve, “Was his stuff in here when you came in?” 

“No,” Steve confirms, shaking his head. 

Sam diverts his attention to James, “Are you in the wrong room?” 

“No!” James declares irritably, “I am not.” 

“What room is this then?”

James narrows his eyes, looking even more annoyed, “I'm not stupid, it's 313.” 

And- Steve doesn't know if this guy is dumb or just really tired, or maybe both, but the room is absolutely not 313. “No,” Steve chimes in, “This is 213.” 

James looks around, stupefied, before sighing and scrubbing a palm over his face, “Oh my god.” 

Sam just stands there smirking, amused. 

“Oh my god,” James repeats, “I am so stupid.” He rubs his fingertips over his eyes, shoulders slumping. 

A part of Steve wants to break into laughter, but at the same time he feels a little bad. And well, when the guy groans again, apologizing, Steve just wants to grab him up and tell him that he would never in a million years be so cruel as to mess with the guys things. Like maybe at one point someone has done something like that to James and Steve feels a little angry about that. Protectiveness surging through him. 

“I'm so sorry dude, really i'm incredibly sorry.” James apologizes again. 

Steve stands up, patting him on the shoulder, “No hard feelings man,” he smiles and hopes its warm and not condescending. “It really is no big deal.” 

A few minutes later James leaves the room and Sam laughs hysterically over the whole ordeal but Steve can't push back that overwhelming fondness that he somehow feels for James. Don't get him wrong, Sam seems nice but A big part of Steve wishes that Sam was the one with the wrong room.

—  
Most days Steve forgets about it. Usually just looks it over, sees it there but doesn't really pay much attention. 

It's just a part of him, a basic thing like an arm or a leg. Everyone has one. But Steve's sort of just adjusted to the fact that it's there and it most likely has no use to him but that's okay. He's adjusted to probably never finding his soulmate. 

—  
He's in the shower, water a little too warm so his skin feels hot and its nice. 

He drops his head, letting water run over his neck and down is back. Legs planted firmly in place in the shower stall. 

From there he can see down himself, black letters on his hip standing out against the lightness of his skin and he repeats those odd words like he has a million times, “That's my bed asshole.” 

Granted, it has been some time since he paid attention but it suddenly hits him. He throws his head up, saying, “What the hell,” aloud. Because- what the hell. 

He replays it in his mind, “Thats my bed asshole.” “Not anymore,” and suddenly he feels that fondness he felt that first day he met James surge through him again. Heavy and desperate and before he knows it he's hopping out of the shower stall with soap still running down his leg as he hastily towels off.

—  
It only takes a few seconds for James to answer his door but those few seconds feel like six lifetimes over to Steve and he's not sure how to describe the relief that he gets when James finally opens it up. 

He looks a little different than when they first met. His hair tied back, in loose clothes like he's relaxed and much less annoyed, but he frowns like he's still embarrassed by the whole thing. 

“Um,” James starts, “Yeah?” 

Steve knows that he's grinning like an idiot, “Hey, Hi, sorry if this is sudden or anything. But uh- do the words, ‘not anymore’ mean anything to you?” 

James's face twists up, confused before suddenly his eyebrows raise, head turning as the metaphorical gears in his head turn too. “Wait,” he begins “Wait, how do you?” 

Steve's stomach swoops, “You said, ‘'That's my bed asshole,’ and I've always thought that i was just the most unlucky guy ever that that's what I got, and I guess we were too busy being idiots to realize.” 

James makes a choking noise, shoving his hand into his hair, “This is- No.” 

But before Steve can respond James has his hands on him, scrambling to yank up Steve's shirt. 

Steve starts to protest but before he really can James is dropping his shirt, grabbing his own hair again, “What the fuck.”

“Yeah,” is all that Steve can mutter.

“This is ridiculous, this is crazy,” James babbles, “This is insane and you have so many muscles and i'm both freaking out and somewhat aroused because I just saw your abs and-” He shuts himself up, laughing. 

They're in the middle of the hall and Steve feels incredibly stupid yet he's never felt so comfortably happy in the presence of anyone in his life as he confidently says “You're so weird.” 

—  
An hour or so later they're in his room discussing the plan for their first date and he feels a little like hes known James forever. 

They may or may not kiss in James's doorway before he leaves, and he may or may not dream about the kiss that night and he may or may not grin like an idiot as he brings James breakfast the next morning.

—  
Five years later 

Steve flicks on the lamp at his bedside, boxes still stacked against the wall of his new place. It's nice, it's really nice and you would have told him a few years ago that he would be as fortunate with his life as he is now, he would call you crazy. 

But here he is, staying his first night in the home that he managed to pay for with the money he's made opening his own business and it's so surreal that it knocks the breath out of him. 

He leans back into his pillows, grabbing the book he's been reading from his bedside table and flipping to his dog eared page. 

It's a good book and he has such a good life and he takes in a deep breath as he begins to read. 

That is until he's interrupted, feet patter into the room and then there's a big, grinning lug leaning against the door jamb, “ That's my bed asshole.” Bucky says. His arms are crossed at his chest, ring shining in the lamp light and it matches Steves against his paperback and seeing them always makes his heart race. 

Bucky being by his side forever will never not be his favorite thing. 

He smiles and feels his ribcage flutter as Bucky does so back and god, he's so in love sometimes that it hurts. 

But Bucky's right, it is his bed, it came from his first apartment, and well, it was a hell of a lot better than Steve's when they first moved in together a few years back, so they kept it and now its in the home that they own together. 

So Steve can't really deny that it is Bucky's bed. But, he can say now that really, it's theirs. 

So he throws his head back, laughing, as he says “Not anymore.” 

And if that gets him beat up by a pillow, well, that's okay.

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Holidays everyone! 
> 
> Thanks to rb for literally guiding me through how soulmate fics work. I asked a lot of really dumb questions, that wasn't my proudest moment.
> 
>  
> 
> Here's my [Tumblr!](http://www.tyranttirade.tumblr.com)


End file.
